James 1:2
by StarkLovesShawarma
Summary: For a split second he regrets ever signing up to play hockey. That thought is quicky shoved to the depths of his mind, picturing the reason he had ever started. Destitute of Vision pt2


**The second part to Destitue of Vision. I wasn't really planning on making a follow up to the story but I was in a terrible mood earlier and this is what came of it.**

I do not own Big Time Rush or anything else you may recognize in this story.

_ He stumbles through the dark, making his way to the bathroom and he's tripping over nothing, his trembling hands grabbing for any physical thing he can grasp._

When his fingers are finally holding the door frame he leans heavily to his left, his index flicking the light switch up, and the room remains black. The buzzing of the flouresent bulbs above him being a taunting reminder of just how damned his life had become in the past twenty-four hours.

Short, desperate gasps are being sucked into his gaping mouth, his lungs expanding and falling so quickly it fucking hurt. He fell forward to hold the sink, sweat matting his short black hair as the beads slid down his clammy, olive skin. He lifted his hanging head, expecting to stare at his dishelveled expression and tell himself its all going to be okay, but when he does, he's met by nothingness.

Even though his eyelids are peeled and his pupils are shaking, he sees nothing in front of him.

"No, no, no..." he mumbled out, his left hand snaking its way to his temple, feeling the spongey bandage taped to the side of his head. Breath hitching, he sunk to the floor, his pink tonuge running over his dry mouth as he backed against the cold wall. Hot tears began to overflow in his non-functioning eyes, his stomach turning and groaning from this excruciating feeling of uncertainty.

He begins to hit his head gently against the wall, ignoring the already throbbing pain radiating through his skull. His skin has warmed since he's been in the bathroom, and he knows for a fact that those long, white lights are shining above him. His chest is so tight he feels like someone is stepping on him.

Teeth clenching his bottom lip, he feels the rubber disk smack into the side of his head over and over and over again, and for a split second he regrets ever even signing up to play hockey. But that thought is quicky shoved to the depths of his mind, picturing the whole reason he had ever started.

Those sparkling hazel eyes, so determined with anything he was to ever take on you couldn't help but feel a little inspired yourself. His long, sandy brown hair forming around his soft face so beautifully that he actually envied. And those lips, God.

The moment they moved and formed the motivation of playing hockey, he was eagerly accepting.

But now...

A choking cry erupted from his throat as he thought of how he would never see those alluring features again. Gripping his stomach, he refrained from vomiting all over the hospital floor, and fuck did he want to. His life was completely and utterly ruined.

"Carlos?"

His head shot up, a whiney gasp breaking out of him as he recognized the voice, but could no longer see the face. Carlos blinked in a hopeless attempt to regain his sight, hearing James drop to the limestone floor in front of him. "Carlos, what are you doing on the floor?"

James' voice sounded strained to Carlos, who suddenly realized his hearing was strangely acute. He could slowly begin to picture what James' face looked like at this moment in his mind, and his rapid heart began to slow its pace, his gasps transforming into long breaths. His cold, shaking hands were suddenly being held tightly by James'.

"Please talk to me Carlos, please," James pleaded, grasping his friend's hand in his own. It pained him so greatly to see the teen in this condition, his chocolate eyes wide and wondering but unable to see anything around him. His own lips began to quiver has he watched Carlos' sad face change to unreadable. "Please."

Carlos wondered what James' expression looked like at this moment.

He had lunged forward quickly, his entire body collapsing into James' frame as his hands grabbed blindly for his face. Accomplishing this, Carlos pulled himself in, pressing his shaking lips against his best friend's.

Carlos jerked awake, leaning up on the leather couch. He struggled to catch his breath for a moment before letting himself slump, leaning back down.

He found himself against James' chest, snuggling into the soft fabric of his favorite grey sweater. Carlos smiled contently, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of his husband's slow and calm breathing.

Sometimes, he wonders what the world looks like now; how much its changed. He hasn't had his sight for seven long years, and he feels like he's missing out on everything. But really, Carlos knows its a blessing.

He thanks God for his blindness everyday. Any other person might think him crazy for this, but he stands by it. If it wasn't for him becoming blind, he never would've been on that hospital floor, James never would've come into the bathroom, and Carlos never would have kissed him that night, leading up to their love.

_James 1:2 "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds."_


End file.
